Silhouettes
by bunniesgonomnom
Summary: A post-Always of sorts. How would the night have gone differently had Beckett been too afraid to tell Castle how she felt? Multi-chapter in progress.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I ate mac and cheese for every meal today, so it's obvious that I'm not a functioning adult. No, I do not own them._

_A/N: It's been a long time, right? I started this as a multi-chapter fic over the summer, and I kind of hadn't thought of it again even though I'd written two full chapters. Recently, I was stuck at a house without internet, television, cell phone service, or a house phone, so I had to find something to do. Here's the edited first chapter. It's rather short. Yes, there will be a second chapter, but I want to let the first sit for a while before I post the second. Enjoy!_

* * *

_There's nothing that I take back,_

_But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret,_

_'Cause when I sing, you shout,_

_I breathe out loud,_

_You bleed,_

_We crawl like animals,_

_But when it's over, _

_I'm still awake._

- Of Monsters and Men, "Silhouettes"

* * *

Her clothes were soaked by the time she was at his door.

She could feel the rainwater deep within her boots and right against her breasts; somehow, she'd managed to sit in the rain for long enough that her clothes had gone heavy, long enough that her garments had become a thick second skin that she desperately wanted gone. Maybe he'll open the door, she thought. When she'd tried to call him earlier, he hadn't picked up, but she'd expected that, had expected him to deny any advances that she would give. Part of her wished she hadn't pushed him away while another part wished she'd forced him to leave long beforehand, that strange man. When she'd spoken her words of rage, she'd meant them, but after he'd gone, she'd finally felt herself come to the /because I love you/ wall, finally had realized the truth behind his words despite his constant honesty throughout the statement. She'd then gone into her bedroom and had lain down in bed, had stretched out as she felt her heavy face give way to tears. And what exactly was she crying for? For Castle, for the case, out of stubbornness, for herself?

Most of all, she wished that she could've gone back to her days as a little girl, back to when she could've curled into her mother's arms and cried there instead of crying alone in her bedroom. When she tried to think of how to move forward, she was stuck; she couldn't think of a way to get past the place where she was, and now, she had no where to go. She was a cornered mouse, too meek and tiny to get away, so she was forced to run into the trap, to sacrifice herself because she was far too small. So she consulted the one person she could trust, her mother.

Things quickly went sideways mainly because Kate hadn't listened to her mother. At the grave, she could think of one thing; she had to bring justice to the situation, so Kate had tracked down her shooter. Now she was wet, bruised, suspended, unemployed, and madly in love with Castle even though she couldn't tell him that. Though she'd believed that justice would be found if she tracked down Maddox, Kate was mistaken; instead, justice was in Castle, in what she and Castle could be together. She hadn't listened to her mother, and now she was trying to. Maybe things would work out for her and Castle. After all, she'd spoken and had memorized the words she wanted to say to him; now she just had to let go and say everything. She could live with whatever outcome came so long as there was an outcome.

With three nervous raps on his door, she tried to muster the courage to speak.

He came to the door slowly, and with each step of his she heard, she felt her nerves spike again and again. Finally, he opened the door, presented himself with an uncaring face as soon as he saw her.

"Beckett, what to do want?" he said with annoyance.

And then she felt her stomach lurch, felt her breath stop, felt all of her preparations melt away. Wasn't she supposed to say something? She _had_ to say something; she'd practiced the words over and over again, but now he was asking her something, was saying something far from her script. Now she had to improvise.

"I'm hurt," she forced out, as though she were coughing something up. "I'm hurt, Castle, and I need help."

He didn't look concerned; instead, he ushered her in as she finally took another breath. And she was hurt, being that her posture had turned from high to that of a feral cat's. Contracting over slightly, she walked toward his living room, felt her clothes dripping onto his floor. As he shut the door, he came back to her, brought a hand to her back; with the touch, she flinched.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice low.

She glanced to him, and as he saw the nervousness in his eyes, he offered an asking, "Kate."

"Can you take my jacket off?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

He nodded slowly as he went to her back, as he tried to pull the leather off of her arms. When he tugged the jacket off of her, she flinched again, and for a moment, he wished he could've already know what had happened. Was she even actually hurt? He had no idea.

She felt lighter without the jacket, but her shirt was still there; though she still wore most of her armor, she at least had her back mostly free. How could she get her shirt off? After Maddox had thrown her to the ground, had beaten her until she couldn't breathe, she'd felt her back bruise, but now the marks were truly taking her over; she could barely move, and when she did, she hurt throughout her spine.

"Beckett, what happened?" he asked again as he walked toward the kitchen, as he laid her jacket against one of the chairs.

Glancing to her, he searched for an answer, and this time, he actually did seem concerned.

She couldn't think of what to say, and though she wanted to explain everything to him, she couldn't find the words, so in an attempt to show him, she tried, "Can you cut my shirt off?"

"Kate-"

"Please."

He closed his eyes, let out a sigh as he motioned for her to come closer. Dripping as she walked, she went into the kitchen, and when he pulled out kitchen scissors from a drawer, she leaned over the stainless steal sink there and waited for him. He brought a hand to her back as he went to cut, and when she flinched again, he begged, "_Kate_."

"Just cut it, Castle," she said, hushed.

She dug her hands into the sink as he trailed the scissors from the base of her spine up; as he cut higher and higher, she felt relief going up her back, and when she finally had the shirt cut in half at her spine, she sighed out of thankfulness; however, he stopped breathing.

"Kate," he asked as he finally exhaled.

And there was the concern she hadn't seen before; now he was scared, but somehow, she liked the unconcerned Castle more.

"What does it look like?" she asked, craning her neck back but finding that the movement hurt as well.

She heard him as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and although he knew better than to do so, he softly unhinged her bra, letting her back be entirely bare. Then, he took a picture and passed the phone up to her. While she looked at the picture, she listened as he walked away, and even though she wanted to know where he was going, she couldn't take her eyes off of the picture. On her back were a series of large, puckering bruises, and with black and blue covering her spine, she looked as though she'd been brutally beaten, which maybe she had been. Now she could see why moving hurt. Of course, being hurt hadn't been her reason for coming, but she was there in his apartment, and at least that was something.

Eventually, Castle returned, and she passed his phone back to him; he took the piece quickly.

"Kate, I need you to tell me what happened," he said, leaning on the countertop alongside her so that he could meet her eyes.

"Where did you go?" she asked.

In front of her, he placed a tub of ointment so that she could see.

"Arnica gel," he said as he folded his hands and turned to her. "Does wonders on hickeys. The bruises will go away much quicker."

She didn't react to his comment, instead just stared at the tube of gel.

"I can try to put some on," she said, reaching toward the gel but finding that doing so hurt.

"No," he said quickly, putting his hand over hers in order to stop her movement. "Let me."

He went behind her, and once she'd had enough courage to tell him not to, he'd started slathering gel onto his hands; then, with soft, kind motions, he brought his hands warmly across her back and stroked the outlines of every bruise. At first, the touches made her wince, but after the first few strokes, Kate relaxed her body against his hands, leaned over the sink just a bit farther as he rubbed the gel on her back.

"I'm guessing that this feels nice," Castle said as he continued to massage her back.

"At first, the bruises weren't painful, but then they were so excruciating that I could hardly..."

And then she let out a low, breathy, almost silent moan because, damn it, his hands were nothing but warm comfort against her battle scars, and secretly, the sound she made caused his knees to go weak.

"It's quite nice," she said afterward, trying to clear the air.

"Yeah," he offered, a bit put off even though it was in a good way.

His hands slowed, and with every knead he gave against her skin, she felt herself continue to relax, and suddenly, she wasn't thinking of the day, of her resignation, of how she'd gotten those bruises; she thought of him, of how his hands danced a slow waltz down her spine, of how she wished these touches, though they didn't seem entirely platonic, weren't platonic. Suddenly, she wished that he'd touched her not because she was hurt but because he'd wanted to touch her, and now that he was touching her, she never wanted him to stop. From the relief of the gel, the softness of his touch, and the sudden lightness on her torso, she felt better than she'd ever felt before. But then his hands stopped, and immediately, all of her thoughts, the troubling ones and the good ones, came back in a flood, and every bit of relaxation he'd given her seemed to subside; now she was just hurt and battered, and now she didn't have him comforting her. She almost felt as though she were missing a part of herself after he'd taken his hands off of her, felt as though one of her limbs were missing even though all of her limbs were intact.

"Thank you," she said as she stood up straight again.

"You're welcome," he said as he leaned on the countertop next to her. Glancing to her, he said, "I should take you to a hospital, shouldn't I?"

"No," she said immediately. "I don't need a hospital. I'm fine now, Castle."

Looking behind herself, she saw where her jacket was, heard that the storm outside had already worsened.

"The subway may be crowded because of the rain, but I'll fit," she said as she headed toward her jacket, as she tried to clasp her shirt together in the back even though every movement hurt.

"Kate," he called after her as he trailed her to where her jacket was, "we both know it's best that you don't leave."

"I'm fine now, alright?" she said, meeting his glance as she picked her jacket up off of the kitchen chair. "I just needed some help; that's all."

"You can't just leave, Kate," he said, following as she started toward the front door. "You can't just turn up hurt, let me take care of you, and leave."

"_Castle_."

And then he took a few strides in front of her and pressed himself against the front door, blocking her way.

"Rick," she said with tired annoyance, as though she were too tired to argue.

"I'm not letting you leave," he said, shaking his head.

Now she could see utter concern in his eyes, an unwavering care for just how badly she'd been hurt. And maybe he could see her emotional scars as well; maybe, as he looked into her eyes, he could see an untold story of fear, of anguish, of defeat, and now that he'd seen the book-jacket, he had to read the story. No matter what she would do, he had to know what had happened, to know what had gone wrong.

"I'm not letting you leave, Kate," he repeated, shaking his head.

Letting out a breath, she looked down, found that he'd blocked her, and, as she looked up to him, she asked, "Then what happens next, Rick?"

He looked to her, opened his mouth the speak but couldn't find words. Though she knew what she wanted next, she couldn't tell him such things. For her, the next action would be a kiss, a slow, passionate kiss, and then they would stop and discuss what they were doing. Maybe they'd declare it right there, that if they kept going, they wouldn't stop; maybe they'd say that this was it, and if it happened, then it happened, and if it didn't, then it didn't. Had he been waiting for such a thing as long as she had? For Kate, the situation was only frightening because she couldn't initiate a beginning; however, if he started to love her in a physical way, she would love him back so quickly and so well that he would wonder how they'd ever _not_ loved each other in such a way. Then, they would take a bath together, and as he rubbed hot water against her back, she would press her chest against his, would kiss that one spot on his neck that she secretly, and desperately, wanted to taste. She wanted to hear it again, his _I love you_, and she even wanted to say it back.

But that wasn't how things would go. Instead, she had to be realistic.

"The couch is comfortable," he said, glancing toward the living room. "I don't want you going up any stairs while you're injured, so the guest room is out. However, the couch is comfortable, and there are plenty of blankets, so you should be fine. You'd best be taking a shower before you go to sleep, and I can lend you a pair of sweats for the night. And, Kate?"

She met his gaze again and hummed in response.

"I'm not letting you leave until you tell me how all of this happened," he said.

She would've retorted had he not looked so scared by all of her bruises. Though she wanted to tell him what had happened, she felt exhaustion hanging on her brow, and if she had to force the entire story out, if she had to see his reaction, then she surely wouldn't be able to sleep that night. Maybe she could tell him the next morning. That was, if she was still there the next morning.

"Fine," she said, removing her jacket a second time.

He took the leather coat from her, and reaching out to take her hand, he let their fingers intertwine. Pulling her toward his office, he lead her in to where the bathroom was, gave her two towels, one to dry off with and one to cover her front with after she'd dried off, and a pair of his sweatpants. After letting her into the bathroom, he'd claimed that he was going to try to sleep, and if she needed anything, he told her that she could wake him up. He'd left within a few seconds, had gone back into the bedroom and likely gotten ready for bed, but she was left longing, left wondering what it would've felt like to have his lips against her forehead before he'd gone. She wondered what his _goodnight_ kisses felt of, and as she started to draw a bath rather than a shower, she wondered how he would've drawn the same bath. What if he were in the bath with her? Fantasies kept running through her head, and with every new imagining, she wished even more that she could leave the bathroom, go into his bedroom, and wake him up just to proclaim to him all of these feelings that she had for him.

Instead, she brought a pointed foot into the bathtub all alone, and instead, she slid into the tub by herself. There were no bubbles, no soft rinses, no candles and no advance copies of Nikki Heat books and no glasses of wine; this bath was one for relief, and as she sat in the bath, she felt herself hunch over out of pain. Slowly, she slipped down into the bath so that her back only floated in the water; using her hands against the edges of the tub, she held her torso in a hanging place, made sure that her spine never touched the ceramic bottom of the bath. The heat was kind on her back; however, she still had that picture of her leaning over Castle's chest while he used a warm washcloth against her bruises, and she longed to have him holding her up instead of having her own arms holding her up. With a bar of soap, she washed her hair, ran the bar along her body in hope of shedding the rainwater from her skin. As she brought herself out of the bath, as she dried off with the first towel he'd given her, she was forced to glance in a mirror across the room.

She could see herself, but somehow, she didn't recognize herself. With bloodshot eyes, a tired brow, and scared posture, she looked nothing of what she'd been only a few days beforehand; now, she was afraid, and she was a coward, and she wasn't someone who deserved his love. Instead, she deserved asylum, and she wasn't sure if Castle could give her such a thing. She was a fraction of Kate Beckett, and with every movement she made, she felt weaker and weaker to the point where she hardly wanted to move at all.

I love him, she thought, and she repeated the thought as she pulled on his sweats, as she wrapped the second towel over her front, as she walked past his bedroom and toward the living room. In bed he lay, and as she walked past, she forced herself to resist the powerful urge she had to lie down next to him, to curl up against his side, to kiss his cheek as he slept and maybe sleep a little bit as well. However, such actions were things that she couldn't do, so she held back and simply walked past his bed and headed toward the living room.

The storm brewed on outside; when she found herself at the couch, she could still heard loud claps of thunder. Lying down slowly, she lay on her stomach and over the second towel, bunched the towel up alongside her breasts in hope of covering her front. She held her body in place as she pulled a throw blanket over her legs and over the very base of her back, where the bruises weren't as large. Lying there, she forced herself to shut her eyes, tried her best to sleep, but she was wide awake with thoughts of him dancing through her mind. Did he know how much she thought of him? Did he realize that she'd spent the last year of her life wondering every night how it would feel to have him in her bed? Did he understand that she'd put her hair in a bun so many times during the year solely because he'd said that he'd liked it _once?_ She was too much of a coward to share her feelings, but she still had her thoughts, still had her fantasies of being the woman on his arm at book signings, still had her ideas of what waking up next to him would be like. Though she couldn't understand all of her thoughts, she knew one thing for sure; she loved him, and no matter what would happen, she would always love him. Always.

But for now, she was in his loft, and she was hurt, and she hadn't said any of the things she'd wanted to say. However, she was in his loft, and that was a start. Though sleep was a distant thought, she'd made some progress; forcefully, she congratulated herself on such progress.

Maybe she could make even more progress in the morning.

* * *

_A thousand silhouettes dancing on my chest,_

_No matter where I sleep,_

_You are haunting me, _

_But I'm already there,_

_I'm already there,_

_Wherever there is you,_

_I will be there too._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I mean, I signed up for a half marathon today, so that's kind of adult-like, right? But then again, the people who own Castle probably don't have enough time to run half marathons. So that's a no._

_A/N: Last update of the year! Ha. Ha ha. I was going to keep just the first chapter up for a week, but what the hell. This was already written, so I figured I might as well just post it. Originally, these first two were going to be the same chapter (hence why they're both so short), but I feel as though separating them made it a little less dull. To answer a couple of questions, yes, this will have at least one more chapter, maybe more than that, and as to a final length, I have absolutely no idea. I have a bad (or good?) habit of writing fics on whims, so I can't exactly assure anyone that this will end up being a certain number of chapters. _

_Also, side note: I totally didn't realize how short a song "Silhouettes" is until I literally ran out of quotations to put in any additional chapters after the eventual third chapter. Oops. I hope no one minds if I start using other words._

* * *

_A thousand silhouettes _

_Dancing on my chest, _

_No matter where I sleep, _

_You are haunting me._

* * *

She tried to force her eyes shut even though sleep was far away.

With cold air on her back, she couldn't seem to relax, but mostly, she kept imagining him there, picturing him sitting on the floor so that his neck would be pressed against her side and so that his back would be against the couch. She imagined him talking to her, wondered what he would say to comfort her. And then she wanted him to hold her, to kiss her as he told her that everything would be just fine. Then, she wanted to fall asleep in his arms, and the next morning, she wanted to wake up in the same place.

However, that was not the case, so instead, she shut her eyes, tried to see if keeping her eyes closed would ease her to sleep. She'd been lying there for an hour; maybe now she could relax.

Another chill went across her spine; she surely couldn't sleep with her back bare, but if she moved her arms from where they were, folded beneath her chin, then her back would send shooting pains across her spine, and she couldn't bear to feel such things. Instead, she tried to pretend that she was warm, tried to think warm thoughts in the place of actual warmth. Then, she heard a door open, not the front door, and for a moment, she tensed; was someone breaking in? Had Maddox gone looking for her? What about Ryan and Esposito? Her heart raced as she thought of Maddox easing in through a window, as she thought of him holding a gun to the back of her head, as she thought of him finishing her off before she'd told Castle how she felt. No, she _needed_ to tell Castle how she felt first. She had to-

Then, she heard footsteps, and she held her eyes shut, tried to block out all of the terrifying pictures she was conjuring. Each footstep came nearer to her, and right as she was about to spring up and attack whatever intruder had come, she heard said intruder trip, and with a curse, she realized that this wasn't an intruder; this was Castle, padding through the living room. Cursing in her mind, she almost laughed as she heard him come closer.

"Beckett?" he whispered as he crouched down next to the couch.

She could feel his breath against her back, and suddenly, her shivers were good shivers.

"Kate, are you awake?" he whispered.

With her eyes shut, she pretended to be asleep, acted as though she were; if she spoke to him, then her imaginings would only worsen, so for now, she would be asleep. Oh, but how _desperately_ she wanted to tell him to hold her close...

No, she was asleep, so he stood up and walked to where her feet lay. Pulling the blanket up along her back, he placed the garment gingerly over her bruises, and when he smoothed the fabric around her shoulders and neck, she was thankful that he'd done so; finally, she wouldn't be cold anymore. Then, he layered another blanket over her, made the weight of the fabric over her body just a bit heavier, and now she was warm, cozy even.

"Just checking up on you," he said, whispering seemingly to no one.

Before he left, he crouched down again, and suddenly, his face was so close to her shoulder that she almost couldn't breathe anymore. Then, removing the blanket from her shoulder, he caressed her back with his thumb, rubbed that spot for a moment before pulling the blankets back over her. When he stepped away, she heard the office door shut behind him as he retreated to the bedroom, and with a sharp inhale that even hurt her back, she finally began to breathe again.

He hadn't held her. In fact, he'd barely even touched her. However, he'd touched her nonetheless, and suddenly, her lips were curling into a wide smile. He'd come to check up on her. He'd brought blankets over her. He'd touched her in a way that had made her stop breathing. Somehow, she didn't fill her mind with imaginings again; instead, she was filled with warm because he'd touched her and because he'd checked on her. That warmth became a comfort, and within minutes, she was relaxed enough to sleep, but then she thought of how he'd checked on her after an hour. Would he be back in another hour? She was willing to risk staying up just in case he came back.

So she pried her eyes open, made sure that she stayed awake as she lay there. With all of her power, she tried to keep herself awake, but now, she was so close to sleep that her body seemed to weigh twice its original weight. She finally felt sleep coming to her, and despite how wonderfully tired she felt, she forced herself awake. If staying awake for another hour meant having him touch her in such a way, then she would fight forever in order to stay awake.

However, she did finally let herself nod off, and while she closed her eyes and dozed, she almost forgot how many minutes had passed. As she felt herself drifting into sleep, the door to the office creaked open again, and suddenly, her eyes were open, her body alert. Acting as though she had been asleep, Kate tried to look as if she hadn't been awake for his last touch. Goodness, his last touch. How she could be so in love with something he'd done, she couldn't understand, but she loved it nonetheless.

He crept toward her softly, tried not to wake her even though she wasn't asleep. Coming closer, he craned his neck, checked to see if she was asleep. In hope that he would take the hint, she tried to say something.

"Hey," she said groggily.

"Everything alright?" he asked as he came closer to her.

She nodded sleepily against her folded arms, winced when she found that such an action hurt.

"I woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep," she said as he came over and sat down next to her.

He sat farther away than she would've liked him to sit; however, the distance was chaste, truly platonic, so she would have to deal with it. As he looked to her from his seat on the floor, he asked, "Do you need anything?"

Had she been better rested and a less lovesick, she would've said no, but now that she had been offered such a question, she took it and ran.

"My back was bothering me a bit," she said. "Do you have any aspirin that I could take?"

"What about some more arnica gel?" he asked.

Exactly what I'd been hoping for, she thought. Though she could recognize that such a plan was lowly of her, she hardly cared.

"That'll work," she said.

Though she was composed on the outside, she was a mess on the inside; she needed his hands against her desperately. She'd come to his apartment so desperate with want to tell him how she felt, and now that she was going to tell him, she was too scared, so instead, that want remained, and she swore that she was going mad.

He walked away from her to where the arnica gel sat on the kitchen counter, and as he returned, she tried to clear her face, tried to look as though anticipation weren't clouding her eyes. On his knees, he sat with his hands readied, then squeezed more lotion onto her back. As the cold gel hit her bare skin, she shivered, but the first shiver was nothing in comparison to the good shivers he gave her as he gingerly brought the gel over her skin again.

Softly, he began with the same motions as before, and though she wasn't the one who possessed his hands, she could still tell that he felt her relaxing beneath his hands. Now sleep was so close to her that she could hardly stay awake, but with his hands on her back, she couldn't let another moment go to waste. He continued to massage her but made his touches a bit harder, a bit less fragile and gentle, and even though she hadn't expected such great relief, she finally felt the tension among her muscles leave; her back felt warm and loose and free despite all of the bruises that remained there. Keeping with the motions, he moved his hands up and down her spine, and when he brought his hands up to her shoulders, he massaged her there, right on the tops of her shoulders where bruises weren't present. With a sigh of relief, she closed her eyes as he massaged, but suddenly, he stopped, instead brought his hands back to the tube of gel and closed the tube's cap.

"Castle?" she murmured as he walked to place the gel back on the kitchen counter.

I want you, she thought toward him. I need you, she thought again. I love you to the point where I can't think of anything but you, she thought. However, she couldn't form words even though the words were on the tip of her tongue.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked as he returned to stand by her.

Craning her neck to the side and looking up to him, she gave before she could say anything more, "No."

"Alright," he said. "I'm going to head back to bed then."

"Ok."

The air was tense as he walked back toward the office, and just as he opened the door, she finally managed the courage to say, "Rick?"

Turning toward her, he gave a glance, an asking glance.

"Could you sit with me?" she asked, unsure of what she was asking even though she was asking it. "I'm scared."

Technically speaking, she wasn't lying about being scared, but she _was_ being unclear as to where her nerves were coming from. While her mind was so rapt in thoughts of him, she didn't think of Maddox, didn't think about how she was now unemployed; instead, she thought of caresses and of statements and of gratitude and of anniversaries. She hadn't even told him that she wanted him, yet she still pictured them together in years to come. For her, life was easy once things were comfortable, but initiating a beginning was impossible; she would back down and run away at the sight of most opportunities, no matter how great the opportunity happened to be. And with Castle? She was doing exactly what she should've predicted. However, she wished that she would've strayed from her pattern just this once.

He nodded slowly at her statement, then came back over to sit down with his back against the couch; the back of his neck just came into contact with her left side, and she swore that she needed to feel him even more against her even though she knew she couldn't.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asked as he leaned back.

"Castle-"

"You need to tell me at some point, Beckett," he insisted. "If it's keeping you up, then you should say it; at least that way you'll end up getting some rest."

But my thoughts aren't of the bruises, she thought; they're of you. My thoughts of you are keeping me awake to now end. At this rate, I feel as though I'll only sleep after I've spilled every last feeling to you, Rick. Tonight, I can't sleep, but maybe I'll be able to sleep tomorrow night. Or maybe I won't be able to...

She was tired, desperately tired, so maybe she should tell him about Maddox in hope that such a statement would clear her mind of both Rick and Maddox. No, she thought, that isn't a good idea; either she would say what was actually keeping her up or she would say nothing at all.

"It's not keeping me up," she said.

To her, that was hardly even a lie.

"Then what is?"

And then she felt all of the overwhelming feelings of need, the _I have to tell him_ feelings, all over again. She needed to tell him, was desperate to love him fully, both physically and mentally. After months of healing, she was finally ready, yet she couldn't bring herself to tell him about how she felt. However, all of the need was in her mind; now she only had to force out words, to say exactly what she was thinking. Then what would happen? Though she didn't know, part of her was fine with not knowing.

"Other things," she said, copping out once again.

"Such as?"

She paused for a moment, asked, "Rick?"

Humming in response, he turned to meet her glance.

"Could you do me a favor?" she asked.

He nodded to her.

"Would you hold me?"

Her words were honest, almost painstakingly honest, as she looked to him. Now, she felt raw, even more raw than before, and somehow, he complied, motioned for her to come closer to him. Sitting up, she kneeled down onto the floor, came closer to him as she clutched the towel to her bare chest. He spread his arms out to hold her, and as she drifted into his arms, she closed her eyes, felt the way her head so naturally fit against his neck and next to his shoulder. Leaning into his side, she stayed there and felt as he pulled a blanket over them both. All alone in the apartment, they sat there, listened to the loud thunder claps of the storm, and he held her close enough that for a while, her mind was numb.

A cellular ringtone began to sound, and as she jolted against him, as she looked around for her phone, he whispered, "Don't worry; it's mine, not yours."

She nodded against his neck, and based on how he was now rubbing her back, she could tell that he felt nervousness in her muscles. There was no fooling this man, was there.

"Aren't you going to pick it up?" she asked as he rubbed her back.

"No," he said.

"Rick-"

"It can wait," he insisted.

"Castle-"

"It can _wait_."

She nodded against his neck, and then they say in a deep silence, in a silence that was only interrupted by rumbling thunder and by the tap of rainwater against the building. To her, he was warm, almost comforting; the loft was air-conditioned, so the room was cold, but he held a warmth within him, so she clung to him, hoped that he would take the goosebumps off of her back even though she was sure that he was causing those goosebumps. So he was warm. Wrapped up in his arms, she could hardly think anymore, only now in a good way; her thoughts were temporarily numbed, and with every second that passed, she felt more and more at ease. The only thing she could think of was how she could stay like this all night if she uttered a few words, and somehow, she started to open her mouth, started to hope that maybe, just maybe, she could force out sentences.

"I didn't come here because I was hurt," she said, her words coming out quieter than she'd expected them to.

He tilted his head down toward her but didn't meet her eyes; instead, he just looked to her as though to tell her that she had his absolutely undivided attention.

Slowly, he asked, "Was there a different reason, Kate?"

She nodded against him as she looked beyond him.

"We found Maddox," she explained even though there was such great effort behind each of her words.

"You did?"

"We did."

Now it was his turn to nod. As he'd expected, she'd gone against what he had asked. Suddenly, she felt ashamed even though she knew that she shouldn't have, but had she listened to Castle, then she wouldn't have developed the bruises on her back. The mixed feelings started to overwhelm her, so instead of thinking, she spoke again.

"We traced back to where he'd been living," she explained as he held her.

In the distance, thunder clapped.

"When Esposito and I tracked him down in the building, he - Maddox - raced to the rooftop, and I followed him," she said. "I tried to overpower him, Castle; I truly did. But he was quick, and he could see everything I was planning to do from a mile away, and with ease, he managed to force me entirely off of the rooftop. I was hanging off of a ledge by my fingernails for what felt like a lifetime."

"_Kate_-"

"But Ryan knew to follow us," she pressed on. "He knew exactly what to do in order to keep Esposito and me from getting hurt. When he and a few members of a SWAT team lifted me up from where I was hanging, I thought it was you, Castle. I kept calling your name, and I kept looking for you, but then I saw Gates, and, Castle, she just looked so _angry_...

"Esposito and I were suspended, but when we were asked to give in our guns and badges, I couldn't stop thinking of you. I couldn't stop thinking of how you'd warned me, of how you'd tried your hardest to stop me, of how you'd been more honest with me than almost anyone I've known well has. For hours, you plagued my thoughts, so when Gates told me of the suspension, I decided to resign."

She paused for a moment, waited as he turned more toward her and asked, "You resigned?"

"I'm through with being afraid," she said, shaking her head against him. "I don't want to live that way, Castle, and I just want you now. I just want _you_."

And he moved away from her slightly, went back so that he could look to her, could see the dewed look of her green eyes against her pale, unmasked face. In this state, she was raw, honest; every piece of her being seemed to say exactly as her words had said. Then, with a slow, steady movement, she brought her lips softly toward his, gave a ghost of a kiss as she pulled away, unsure of what her boundaries were. But then he held her closer, looked into her eyes again, and as she rested her hand against his cheek, he knew that he wasn't going to hold back any longer.

So she kissed him, and he kissed her. How simple it was, now that they were doing so. However, every movement of her body, every small muscle and every hollow, every feeling against his body was as loud and as wailing as the thunder outside; even though they were quiet, she could hear explosions. Months and years of want were in every lock of the lips, and as she breathily sighed his name against his lips, he swore that she'd been worth every second of pain.

At first, she was passionate, but then, she leaned back, looked up into his eyes to make sure that he too wanted this. Looking to her, he showed that same dewey-eyed look that she'd flaunted, one of pure, honest want, and now he was leaning into her, was kissing her fiercely as she kissed back. He held his hands on her hips; she pawed at his hair as she kissed him again. As he traced his hands up her back, she suddenly cringed, and with a moment's notice, he stopped, had to let go and had to lean back. To her, he was too far away again. Why had she cringed? The touch hadn't even been terribly painful; he'd only skimmed a bruise.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, looking to her.

"I'm fine," she said, nodding.

"Kate-"

"_Rick_."

He looked into her eyes as she ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm fine now," she said, looking into his eyes. "This is all I need."

She swallowed, brought her hand down to cup his ear.

"_You_ are all I need."

And then he leaned in, and with quick motions, they were kissing each other fiercely again, were passionately holding each other as another pound of thunder came, and goodness, she couldn't remember ever feeling better, and though she hadn't intended it to, her towel fell down toward her stomach. Nonetheless, she kept on kissing him, wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and straddled his leg as he leaned down to kiss her neck. With every suck and with every caress he gave, she felt herself relax deeper and deeper, and the little bite he gave? She sure as hell would be proud of the mark it left.

Then, he leaned back, stopped kissing her for a moment as he looked to her, and subconsciously, he curled his lips up, gave a breathless statement as he looked to her.

"You were right," he said, looking to her. "I had no idea."

The salacious laugh she gave as she leaned back in to kiss him was enough to drive him mad, and from how things were going, she wondered if maybe - just maybe - they would make it past this "base" that night. As her now swollen lips came against his, she reached down to pull up his tee shirt, and finally, they pulled it off, felt as each of them encountered the other's naked skin. Had she dreamed about this? She most definitely had at some point.

And the words came softly and breathily, on a whim because they were so natural, so necessary, to say, "I love you."

He stopped kissing her momentarily, then looked into her eyes and saw the honest truth behind her words.

"You do?"

Though he wasn't smiling, she could see joy in his eyes.

"I do," she said, nodding quickly. "I love you, Rick."

"If we do this now, there isn't any going back," he said, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"I know," she said. "And if things don't work out, then things don't work out."

"And if things _do_ work out?" he asked.

She bit her lip and added, "Then I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"I wouldn't mind that at all."

"Neither would I."

The little smile he gave at that made her insides feel like butter on a hot pan.

"I love you, Kate," he said, looking to her.

"I love you too, Rick," she said, meeting his gaze.

Then, he stood up and took her hand, and together, in their terribly strange-looking shirtless ways, they went toward his office, with him guiding her there ever-so-softly. The comforter on his bed - his _inviting_ bed - was already undone where he'd been sleeping before, and he guided her over, unmade the bed so that she could climb in, and suddenly, she wondered where exactly they were going right then. As she lay down, he went to the other side of the bed and joined her; facing each other as they both lay on their stomachs, she looked to him with a questioning glance.

"No funny business," he said as the rain continued outside. "Not tonight. Sleep, Kate. Sleep _late_. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Nodding against her pillow, she watched as he pulled the comforter over her. He brought a kiss to her forehead, and as he squeezed her shoulder, she knew that this, just getting to sleep next to him, was much better for that night than sex could ever be. Yes, sex was for another night, for a less hectic night, for a night when it came as naturally as her words of _I love you_ had come. This was right, was perfect for them; now they were on the best track for them both.

She could see that he'd closed his eyes, but then she nestled closer to his side, breathed in his scent as she lay in his bed - his _extraordinarily_ comfortable bed - and memorized this feeling deep within her muscles because she knew that she would reminisce these moments with him. She was tired of her regrets; now she was going to embrace the present in the greatest of ways, and she was going to soak up all of this man that she could. For her, this was a second chance, and she knew that she had to take it.

So they were, in some means, together. No matter what, he knew how she felt, and that was all that she had needed. Closing her eyes, she felt a smile come to her lips; even on a day as awful as that one had been, she'd felt joy. Times were going to turn around; she knew it for sure.

As she drifted into sleep, she hoped for this to be their forever, but if it was just for now, then it would just be for now. This was a risk, but this was a good risk, a _worthwhile_ risk. And who knew? Maybe they would last.

No matter what happens, she thought, he knows how I feel, and so long as he knows, I can feel lighter. This is all I need.

And, finally, she relaxed into sleep.

* * *

_But I'm already there, _

_I__'m already there, _

_Wherever there is you, _

_I will be there too._


End file.
